Daddy's Little Girl
by Rokhi
Summary: Artemis has defeated villains. She has saved the world. She is living a lie. Dad would be proud.


Don't be so impulsive, her mother had always said. Not that Artemis listened.

It came back to bite her more than once-the time she was starving and ate a hotdog from a questionable street vendor; the time she bought a jacket she had to have and went without lunch money for a week; the time she beat up Cory Walker and got suspended. The list went on. Its latest addition: rejoining the Team following Wally's death.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. She wanted to return to the hero game long before Nightwing asked her to go undercover with the Light and could not imagine leaving it again, especially now.

Thinking about it hurt. Feeling hurt. So Artemis did neither. She moved to the Watchtower. She ate dinner with her mother once a month. She babysat Lian when Jade called. She stayed far away from Central City. And she went on missions. Lots of missions.

Tigress trained to exhaustion until she could best Black Canary; then she trained harder. She mastered all manner of blade and ceased using bows. She was stronger than ever. Her battle strategies rarely failed. She was on the brink of shattering.

Kaldur did not ask questions when she called him to the gym for midnight sparring, but his eyes never shut up-too much pity. Red Tornado had no facial expressions; he became ideal company. Barbara always had a new lead needing quiet, solo surveillance; Tigress volunteered often.

The satisfaction she got from destroying villains never offset the discomfort and memories roused by her teammates. Seeing Bart in his red and yellow costume, his appetite, his rushed speech and bad jokes. Hearing the others suddenly stop laughing. Watching Jaime look away. Watching M'gann and Conner grow closer, grow happier.

The others were sorry for her. That made it worse. Because Artemis was not sorry.

Looking back, it all felt so shallow, like they had been playing other people, acting out roles; but then she felt bad for thinking that way, for thinking she never loved the guy everyone said loved her-the guy who died saving the world .

Tigress altered her mask. Her eyes became empty white slits. She broke villains' bones and minds. Successful missions and interrogations drew Batman's frowns and Superman's rebukes, but they would not stop her, not when they saw grief.

At night, when sparring was not enough, she sat in the gym alone and allowed the thoughts she was not allowed to consume her. He asked Barry to deliver those sappy last words because mentioning another girl would look bad. A grim smile twisted and stretched her lips. He died because he wasn't fast enough. She chuckled. He died because he was out of shape. She laughed until tears drenched her face.

Maybe it was for the best that he died. It made things easier. No longer need she fear the messy end that awaited them, and it would come. She could see the fault lines almost as soon as they moved to Palo Alto, the gaping rifts when Wally met his new lab partner, Linda. It was a matter of time before the Wests no longer greeted her as daughter, before the dog she trained yipped for a new mistress, before she finally left the sun drenched illusion for home-for Gotham. It made things easier.

Dad would be proud.

She thought, sometimes, in the darkness, that everything would be all right if she could just go back, if she could return to her city and forget the mistake she made. But in the harsh light of day, she knew better. She was no less trapped than she had been with Wally. Instead of a dutiful girlfriend, she now played the widow. If she left now, they would blame her sorrow and she might never be free of it.

Wally was like his uncle. He believed in true love. He was a true love kind of guy, ready to find "the one" and grow old together. She had seen the look in his eyes, when he thought she was distracted. He never learned. She was raised a ninja assassin; she saw everything. And she knew. He did not want to say it any more than she did-that their five-year mistake was no more than a passing fancy. That he had found the makings of something better. That he had found someone better.

Wally was a good friend, but a lousy boyfriend. She grieved for the friend she lost in the dark, while promising never to attach herself to someone so incompatible; so thoughtless and blind; so wrapped up in his idea of happiness he failed to see her needing different; incapable of understanding the burdens she carried and loving her still. Never again, she promised. Never again would she bind herself to someone who asked her to change, to leave behind what she was. And never again would she cook for someone with that appetite. So many hours, so much work: gone in two seconds.

On those sleepless nights when the truth seemed less volatile, she wished Dick were there. It had been a year since he left, a year since she spoke to him. He would know. He knew Wally, and he knew her. He must have at least guessed the truth. He would understand; he would explain, and then everyone would finally stop treating her like breaking glass and she could breathe again.

Artemis knew she should tell them herself and end this mad cycle. A few words and she would be free. There were only three potential reactions: they would not believe her, they would shun her, or they would let it be and normal life would resume. She weighed the possibilities and probabilities night after night. Her Team had taken the identities of her father and sister in stride, but they were a small, tight-knit group then and young enough to expect mistakes and to forgive. Now, the Watchtower was full of strangers. Now she was older, she was supposed to tread carefully, and Wally was the honored dead.

No matter how many bad guys she beat, no matter how strong she became, sitting in the dark, she knew. She was still the same scared, deserted little girl. Dad would be proud.


End file.
